The Reaving of Souls
by Wicked Little
Summary: It was rather tedious sacrificing someone's soul every year to the Shadow Court, so when Reaver happened to stumble upon two children who were practically glowing in a power that only Heroes possessed, he couldn't help but wonder how much their souls would be worth.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've had an idea in my head for about two or three months now about Reaver meeting Sparrow and/or Rose when they were children, and this is how it turned out! (Well, just one variant of the idea, there is a second idea where I may actually write a story about it...)**

Reaver had only visited Bowerstone four times in his lifetime, and each time was more unpleasant than the last. He couldn't help but think that the statement held true for his fifth and current visit. He didn't try to hide the sneer that made its way to his face as he walked through the dirty and poorly-made streets. The man didn't care if his face showed his disdain for the filthy people who probably only bathed a few times a year. The thought made him cringe.

Why was he even walking through this town that was practically spilling shit from every open window and door? Oh yes, he needed to walk through _here_ to get to Bowerstone Castle. How bothersome.

His thoughts grumbled that he should have demanded Lucien meet him at Bloodstone Mansion instead. Reaver was above these lower class people, and the only time he interacted with them was when he needed someone to fuck and when he wanted to shoot something. Other than that, he didn't like to mingle with them. They were rather boring, after all.

Out of nowhere, a child roughly shoved passed him, and not a second later, Reaver was holding his beloved gun to the nasty creature's head. Another second passed and the man was confused with himself. Why was the child not laying dead upon the ground? Why was there no blood running over the cobbled streets?

Oh.

He hadn't pulled the trigger.

Reaver watched as the child looked up, nervousness and fear the most obvious features that flitted over their face. The vain man inspected the child that was standing before him and instantly came to the conclusion that they were an orphan. That, or the people of Bowerstone did not take care of their children, which also wouldn't have surprised Reaver in the least. Dirt and bruises marked the small face, disheveled and greasy hair claimed the top of the head, and ragged, smelly clothing covered the nasty creature's body. Reaver also couldn't help but notice that there was something... _odd, _about this particular child.

Reaver pulled his gun away and placed it back into its holster, not wanting it to become contaminated.

The child, which the man deemed to be a girl due to the pink coloring of some of the clothing, looked ready to make a run for it. Unfortunately for her, Reaver knew what she was planning and clamped one of his hands down on one of her forearms.

"It's rather rude to run into someone and not apologize," he hissed, digging his gloved fingers into her bony arm. He smiled in satisfaction when he heard a small sound of pain leave the girl's lips.

When no response was made, Reaver narrowed his eyes, "you have three seconds to say something before I rip out your tongue. There's no use in having one if you don't make use of it."

"Hey! You there!" a feminine voice called out, "get away from her!"

Turning his head to find the source of the voice, Reaver spotted another girl who appeared to be around the age of fifteen, and while the man was momentarily distracted, the child in front of him decided it was time to act. She swung her foot up, making contact with the vulnerable area between Reaver's legs.

He almost instantly fell to his knees and doubled over, which made his grasp on the skinny arm go slack, giving the girl the opportunity to get away from the man. Still bent over and quickly becoming angry, his arm quickly shot out and caught the girl's ankle with his hand. The child violently tugged her leg away from him, but to no avail. Growling from anger and pain, Reaver gave a harsh squeeze to her ankle and he both felt and heard the crack.

Reaver was amazed to discover that even with a broken ankle, the filthy creature only uttered a small sound of pain like before. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head slightly, and before he could react, a boot-covered foot savagely slammed into his face, breaking his nose.

Immediately letting go of the child's ankle, both hands went to cover his bloodied face. Tracing his fingers over the bridge of his once perfect nose, he could feel a misalignment, and he had only two thoughts running through his mind:

One_, these children are going to die a most slow and painful death, _and two,_ everyone in this town is going to have a bullet in their head if my nose is permanently disfigured._

Reaver stood up to his full height which towered over the two girls' heads. He was more furious than he had been in years, and as he pulled out his gun, he saw-

He saw that the older girl had will lines running through her skin, glowing a blue so faint that he would have missed it if she was just someone walking by.

She was a _Hero_. Were they _both_ Heroes?

This new discovery made him pause, and a wonderful idea popped into his head. His annual sacrifice to the Shadow Court was coming up, and it was a rather tedious chore that he did not enjoy doing. He always had to deal with the sobbing fools after they lost their youth, but they didn't usually get to complain for long because he always shot them immediately after the ritual was done.

Reaver inwardly sighed when he recalled the details of the agreement between him and the Shadow Judges. One soul for one year of youth, but this agreement never mentioned anything about the soul of a Hero.

The man couldn't help but wonder... just how much was the soul of a _Hero_ worth?

**A/N: There will be a second part to this, but I have other obligations at the moment, so I do not know when it will be posted. :/**

**Also, I haven't played Fable II in at least four months, so I'm worried that some of Reaver's personality may have slipped...  
**


	2. Chapter 2

One week later, the sisters were living in Reaver's Bloodstone Mansion. Sparrow's mind was amazed that Rose was so easily charmed by the man after he had attacked them. She figured it was the words he spoke after the incident:

"_Oh, I apologize for my rudeness_!" and "_I'll give you and your darling sister a warm home to live in!_"

Sparrow didn't know what he wanted with two orphans, but she knew for a fact he wasn't capable of generosity the instant he broke her ankle.

He often smiled at them and made sure they were comfortable, but many times Sparrow had caught him giving them a sneer when he thought they weren't looking. She wanted to tell Rose, but what was the point? She would probably brush it off and tell her to be grateful.

Sparrow was currently walking down a brightly lit hallway when, to her left, a door opened. A moment later, Reaver gracefully stepped through the archway in his earthy red clothes. The vain man spotted her and the young girl thought she saw his mouth twitch momentarily. She figured he was fighting back another sneer.

"Why, hello darling Sparrow!" he greeted, giving a false and strained smile, "how is your ankle?"

Sparrow remained silent, but looked down at her ankle as he mentioned the body part. It was already healed. She always thought this was odd when she lived in Bowerstone because when other children broke bones, sometimes it took up to two months for them to heal. For her ankle, it had only taken four days.

When she glanced back up, she wasn't surprised to see the sneer on his face. It was gone not a second later, replaced with another unpleasant smile.

"Do you enjoy your new clothes?" he tried again, and Sparrow couldn't help but wonder why. She knew he didn't care, even if her sister didn't notice.

Reaver had done away with their dirty and rotted clothing the instant they set foot in his mansion, and had muttered something under his breath. Sparrow had barely caught the word 'disgusting' before he had ushered them into some room. Then he had the tailor from the village come to his mansion and take their measurements. Everyday since then, Sparrow and Rose had received new dresses.

Sparrow had a total of nine dresses so far, and she knew they were expensive from the material and colors they were made of. It was a known fact that commoners and peasants wore brown and other neutral colors, while the upper-classes wore the more flamboyant colors.

The dress she was wearing currently was light pink with random patterns she couldn't make sense of. It didn't matter much, as the only reason why she wore it was because Rose insisted and because she had nothing else to wear. If it were her choice, she'd run around in pants all day long, swinging her toy sword at the flawless wooden walls and shooting her toy gun at the numerous paintings of Reaver.

Sparrow's eyes wandered to the gun that the tall man had belted at his waist, and remembered the cold sting she had felt when it was pressed to her forehead one week ago. She narrowed her eyes at it, and the man must have noticed because he gave a quiet chuckle.

"Miss your toy gun, do you?" he taunted, "perhaps if you speak you will get it back."

The young girl looked away in anger. This was the side of Reaver that Rose never saw.

Sparrow knew he made jabs at her when her older sister wasn't around because he knew she wouldn't say anything back, and she also suspected because he took some type of enjoyment out of it.

Determined to ignore him and continue on her way, Sparrow took a step forward, intent on getting to her room where she wouldn't be bothered by the man. Unfortunately, she never made it that far because the man held out his hand, blocking her path.

"Ah ah ah, darling," he sang, using that horrible pet name, "dinner was just announced. Why don't you accompany me to the dining hall, hm?"

Sparrow heard her stomach grumble and knew she was trapped.

With a barely audible sigh, she walked with him down the stairway until they eventually came upon the dining room. Just as they were walking in, Sparrow saw a butler pull out a seat for Rose. She was wearing a deep purple dress in similar style to Sparrow's.

"Hello, Reaver," Rose spoke, a shy smile making its way onto her face.

"Good evening, Rose," the vain man replied, walking further into the room with Sparrow by his side.

The young girl grabbed her chair and was about to pull it out herself, but was interrupted by Reaver who did it instead. Hesitantly, she sat down, and then the chair was pushed in. She glanced up to see an expectant look on the man's face, like he was waiting for her to thank him.

Sparrow did no such thing and turned forward to face Rose who was sitting directly across from her. The older sister was giving the young girl a look, and that was when she knew that Rose was going to have a word with her when Reaver wasn't around. Not that it would make much difference; Sparrow wasn't going to be polite to a man whom she knew despised her.

Soon after that, shining plates filled with warm and gorgeous food were set on the wooden table, steam rising from foods that were especially hot. Reaver ate his meal with the utmost manners with Rose trying to copy as best she could. Sparrow, on the other hand, stabbed her fork into the food, pretending that it was the man's face. One of the foods she stabbed actually popped from the pressure, and she liked to imagine that it was Reaver's eye.


End file.
